


Obviously a Date

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson and Skye both being really awkward, Coulson and his ridiculous crush on Skye, Coulson really enjoys Skye's legs, Day 1, F/M, Flirting, Foodie Coulson, Maybe more than Coulson does, Oral Sex, Oral Sex on Lola, Road Head, Sex on Lola, Skoulson RomFest 2k15, Skye loves Lola, Skye pulling out her red dress and boots from the pilot, my headcanon is that Coulson is a big fan of that outfit, not a date date, sex outside, skoulsonfest2k15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it takes Skye a while to figure out that it actually *is* a date, which is stupid because Coulson's not even a little bit subtle about it. For Skoulsonfest2k15 'Not-a-Date Date' day 1. </p><p>(Also, in which Coulson takes Skye to a hipster restaurant that is an amalgam of some of my favorite places and Coulson's foodie opinions are mine. Which includes talking way too much about Brussels sprouts, okay? Just ask my husband.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obviously a Date

“Let’s get away from the base for a few hours,” Coulson suggests, startling Skye out of her work.

Even though his voice is soft, it sounds loud after several hours of silence between them — not that it's been uncomfortable silence because it hasn't, just that they've been working quietly and mostly separately in his office.

“Um...”

Coulson takes her lack of response as hesitance, clearly, even though it's mostly just surprise. This isn't exactly a common thing on his part, and she can't figure out the _why_ of it.

“It might be fun. And maybe good for you — for both of us — to get away.” He stands from behind his desk to walk towards her as he speaks, and she thinks she understands him better.

After all, it's true that she's been a little skittish lately, avoiding a lot of contact with anyone besides him and May. And it's not that she doesn't trust the the others on base, it's just that she doesn't want to see them being scared of her (which, she supposes, means there's a part of her that doesn't trust them, at least not with this). But they'd all be well within their rights to freak when presented with the knowledge of what she can do; when presented with the knowledge that she caused the earthquake that killed Trip ( _no_ , she corrects her internal monologue for the millionth time, _Trip was already gone_ ).

“Coulson, that's really nice, but you don't have to—”

“Skye,” he cuts her off and sets a soft hand on her shoulder. It's warm and comforting and the truth of the matter is that she'd probably do whatever he asked her to if he did it with his hand on her shoulder. “I _want_ to. I'd like to take you out for you dinner. And a few drinks.”

“Yeah, okay.” She turns and smiles up at him, pleased to see him smiling back. Even if he thinks of her as a charity case, something he needs to try and fix, she doesn't mind when he smiles like that. Skye doesn't actually remember anyone else in her life smiling at her like Coulson does — like she hung the moon, like he's lucky to even be in her presence. It's a heady thing, Phil Coulson's smile. Could give a girl ideas.

“Good. There's a new place that just opened about an hour's flight from here. I've been wanting to check it out.”

“What kind of place is that?”

“Just a little gastropub,” he answers. “The review I read said they have great food and inventive cocktails.”

Skye raises her eyebrows at the idea of Coulson drinking cocktails — tries to conjure an image of him holding something icy with an umbrella or a pineapple wedge on the side of the glass. That doesn't exactly seem like his scene, but then Skye hasn't frequented places that market themselves as gastropubs, so she doesn't know.

“How could I pass that up?”

Coulson smiles again, and it's with his lips but also with his eyes, like nothing makes him happier than the thought of taking her out. And even though she knows it isn't true — even though she knows this is about him trying to make her feel better — some of his apparent excitement rubs off on her.

“Get changed and we'll leave in half an hour?”

“What should I wear?”

“It's not dressy,” he informs her, “but maybe...”

“Yeah?”

“A dress. Something different than usual.” His eyes scan down what's become her usual outfit — a black t-shirt and pants — not with distaste or disapproval, but somehow a little sad.

She nods, sort of getting the idea. He's asking her to leave behind everything that's bothering her on the base. And, she decides, she hasn't actually worn a dress in so long, it might be fun.

“Oh, and Lola's ready,” Coulson adds, as though it's some casual aside, but his grin as he says it tells a different story. “I was thinking she needs to get out, too.”

“We can take Lola?” Her excitement at that fact bleeds through in a wider smile. She can't help it, though. It's _Lola_.

“That's what does it for you?” Coulson teases, shaking his head with what she hopes is mock offense. “My car?”

“A girl has to have her priorities,” Skye teases back, and Coulson's smile lights up his face again.

“Then I'll meet you in the garage so you can check out your _priority._ ”

Skye just raises her eyebrows at him and turns from the office, though there's a little skip in her step that she doesn't even try to hide.

She wears her red dress and boots because she hasn't worn either item in about two years and because the last time she wore them was the day she joined up with Coulson. The day she rode in Lola for the first time.

She wears her red dress and the boots because the outfit makes her happy, she supposes.

And, when she walks into the garage, Coulson's smile suggests the outfit makes him happy, too.

Before he has a chance to comment, though, Skye darts past him to where Lola sits — cherry red paint in perfect shining condition.

“She looks amazing,” Skye sighs as she smooths her hand down the driver-side door.

“Yes,” Coulson agrees, though when she turns to look at him, she could swear for a second that he's staring at her legs and not at Lola's new paint job. But she knows she's mistaken about that, and pushes the thought aside.

“You look pretty good, too, sir.” She runs her eyes down Coulson's outfit — a black tshirt and tight, dark-washed jeans worn with the black framed glasses he favors sometimes.

“Just pretty good?” He frowns as though he was going for much better than that, and Skye pushes things, probably harder than she should, by sliding her palm down his forearm, stroking him just like she'd done to Lola.

“You'll do.”

Really, there's nothing about his outfit she doesn't like. Coulson has fantastic arms, which are framed really well in his short sleeves, and the tightness of his jeans is stupidly flattering — she's not sure whether her eyes are drawn more to the bulge at the front or the promise of his butt in the back.

“And my outfit?” Skye tries to turn conversation away from how attractive his pants are, terrified that Coulson's smirk means he already knows.

“That's what you were wearing the day you joined up,” he informs her, as though she didn't know.

“Yes.”

“It looked good then.”

“And now?”

“Better.”

His voice is almost too serious, at least compared to the playful tone she's expecting.

“Oh?”

“You've gotten much more...toned.”

His eyes are running down her legs again, and this time there's no way for her to write off that gaze.

“Workouts with May have really made an impact, huh?”

She watches Coulson's expression as he looks her over again, so she catches the peek of his tongue on his lower lip as he examines her and feels an answering twinge between her legs.

It's like he catches himself, then, but instead of shaking it off, he approaches her in order to lay a gentle hand on the small of her back and usher her around to Lola's passenger side. Coulson opens the door for her, guides her inside, and she's sure she feels his eyes raking over her thighs again before he closes the door for her, too.

Which is when it occurs to her how very much this looks like a date.

And, like, a pretty forward date at that.

And Skye doesn't even know what to do with that thought because there's no way that's Coulson's intent. She knows why he's asked to take her out — she understands that it's not about wanting to be out with her, that it's about him being a sweet man who wants to make sure she's okay — so she does her best to put aside any stupid hopes or wishes about what this _might_ be and focus on just enjoying what it is.

“I've missed Lola,” Skye tells him as they leave the garage, Coulson's foot pressing incrementally harder on the gas, as though he's re-examining what his car is capable of.

“She made that big an impression on you?”

“Why do you think I joined up?”

“I assumed it was my charm,” he answers, raising a wry eyebrow as he looks over at her.

“Your charm and the flying car,” she corrects him, and he laughs — actually laughs, in a way Coulson just _doesn't_ very often.

“I suppose I was trying to impress you,” he admits, sort of sheepishly, and it's really charming that he _still_ wants to impress her like that.

“You mean you don't just turn on the charm and the flying car in order to bring in all the new recruits?”

“No one else has ever warranted that treatment.”

Coulson's eyes hold hers for too long, and Skye can feel her face heat up at his words and his gaze until he has to turn back to the road.

She bites back her initial reaction of disbelief that Coulson really thought much about her at all on that first day, and instead just sort of enjoys the idea that whatever the truth is about back then, _now_ he truly values her.

The silence between them is comfortable — warm and not awkward — and grows even more comfortable when he flicks on the radio to a local jazz station, turning it up loud enough to hear over the wind when he accelerates and kicks on the thrusters. They don't talk much (it's one of the things about riding in a convertible even when it _isn't_ jet propelled), but every time their eyes meet, Skye feels warm and happy.

They make good time to the restaurant, even though Coulson has to turn off the thrusters and drive Lola like a normal car for the last twenty miles.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Skye offers as they lean against the wall at the front after putting his name down with the hostess. The bartender, a man who's probably around thirty years old, is hard at work as at least eight patrons lean into the bar around him. 

“I can —”

“We both know I’ll get faster service,” she cuts him off with a knowing smirk, not-so-subtly pushing her arms together to accentuate her cleavage.

“You're probably right,” he acknowledges as his eyes dip down to take in the assets she's showing off, and it's like they get stuck on the view. She watches as his tongue makes a trail across his lower lip, like he's considering her very deeply, and her whole body tightens at the sight.

“Coulson,” she calls his attention back up to her face, more than a little amused at how embarrassed he looks at himself. “You've got a little...” She taps her chin, and Coulson wipes his hand across his own chin reflexively, cleaning up imaginary drool. Skye can't quite hold back a laugh at him.

“Sorry.”

“Hmm,” is all she answers before she turns towards the bar. Coulson catches her elbow with gentle fingers, though, and slides a credit card into her hand.

“Start a tab, they'll transfer it to our table.”

She nods as she takes the card.

“You want something with whiskey?” She asks, really scanning over the range of cocktails she's seeing as they're passed over the bar — nothing blended or fruity looking, after all.

“Yes,” He agrees, and then leans back against the wall. She can feel his eyes on her as she approaches the bar, so she appreciates it when the bartender immediately takes notice. Not that she actually _needs_ to prove the point to Coulson, who was clearly noticing her himself.

She flirts a little more than necessary as she inquires about recommended cocktails — something with whiskey for him, something with gin for her — and then she leans into the bar as she watches him set to work, beginning with crushing ice by hand.

It's an interesting process, which is why she doesn't notice she has company until an unfamiliar arm drapes itself over her shoulder.

She hates being touched by random people, and her shoulders tense against the intrusion.

“So, what's your name?” Her would-be suitor is built similarly to Coulson, but he's not anywhere near as good looking. (She wonders if she would have thought the same two years ago, though, since this guy is definitely closer to Miles's age and has a beard — those were both pluses at one time, she knows, especially the beards. Lately, though, handsome is all in clean-shaven strong jaws and high foreheads and intese eyes.)

“Not interested,” she answers as she smoothly ducks out from under his arm.

“Aw, come on —”

“Sorry about my friend,” another man cuts in, and Skye rolls her eyes. “He's not good at —”

“Interpersonal relations?”

“Sure,” the new guy agrees. “I'm Dave.”

“Hi, Dave,” Skye greets him, keeping an eye out for their drinks. “I'm still not interested.”

“You're here with your dad, right?”

“No,” she scowls at him.

That idea makes Skye want to puke a little bit. She gets it, sort of — Coulson is definitely older, and it's not like he hasn't been a mentor figure to her. But, seriously, he was just staring at her cleavage and that would be creepy if Coulson was a dad to her. Which he's not. And she thinks about kissing him only about twenty times a day, so...

“I didn't mean... I just meant... Is he...”

“That's none of your business,” she answers, just as Coulson steps up to the bar next to her and Skye has to wonder what he heard. Based on his smirk, it was enough to be amused.

“Just, if you want to —”

“I really don't,” she cuts Dave off right as the bartender sets down their drinks, and Skye scoops them both up.

“You never told me your name,” Dave complains as she presses herself up against Coulson.

“No,” she agrees. “I didn't.”

Skye passes Coulson off the whiskey-based drink, which is served without ice in an old fashioned glass and a large strip of orange zest floating in the liquid. He takes it in his right hand as his left hand slides down her spine to sit gently on the small of her back. It's almost possessive, but gentle and careful such that Skye sways closer towards him instead of pulling back.

He keeps his hand on her as they retreat to a dark corner, where they have to stand near a high bar table. Once they're leaning into the wall together, Skye turns her head and watches Coulson take a sip of his drink. It's clearly as much a function of his nose as his mouth, and he breathes in just inside the glass before taking a tiny sip. He smiles as he swallows, and his tongue flicks quickly over his lower lip.

“This is great,” he informs her, and Skye nods — unable to pull her eyes off of his lips — as she takes a first sip from the straw poking out of her tall collins glass, which is filled with crushed ice.

It's is fruity without being cloyingly sweet with just the right amount of slightly bitter herbal flavor. Really simple, actually, but she's never had anything like it — cocktails have always meant something really different, with syrups and mixers, before.

“Oh, yeah,” she agrees. “I think I'll like this place.”

Coulson passes her his glass and raises his eyebrows expectantly, so they trade sips.

“So far so good,” Coulson agrees just before he closes his lips over her straw. And it looks so freaking _erotic_ — the sight of his lips pursed like that, puckering over the same place where her lips just were.

“Is this your kind of place, then?”

“I guess so,” he agrees, as he nods approvingly and passes her glass back. “These sort of places have been popping up in the last ten or fifteen years — casual, but lots of attention to detail.”

“It's a little hipster,” she suggests, slightly scrunching her nose at the whole décor — all faux-vintage with a little faux-dirty for flavor. The polished concrete floors are fine, but you can tell just by looking that the exposed pipes in the ceiling aren't real.

“Not very authentic,” he agrees. “The aesthetic isn't my favorite. But really good cocktails are worth seeking out.”

“I never would have known,” she shrugs and sips again from her glass.

“Now you do.”

“Hmm,” Skye sighs into another sip and then sets her drink down on the small table beside them. Coulson follows suit, which is when it fully sinks in the his arm is still snaked behind her. It's draped comfortably around her lower back so that his hand rests softly on her hip, and suddenly that's all she can focus on. Not that she has somehow overlooked that fact before this moment — she hasn't, she's been very aware of it — but now she realizes what it means. How it looks.

She spends a moment contemplating that idea, and just as she's deciding that it's ridiculous — just as she's convincing herself that he's probably forgotten where his arm is — Coulson's fingers flex against her hip.

Skye swallows.

“So, are you planning to keep your hand there all night?”

They both look down and watch his fingers curl more tightly around her hip, squeezing her softly before he relaxes them.

“Maybe,” he answers, as though this is no different than how he behaves on any given day. “I'd rather not be mistaken for your father again.”

“You'd prefer to be mistaken for my date?”

She looks up at him as she asks it, only to be shocked by his frown.

“Mistaken,” he repeats, as though the word makes no sense. He shifts, removing his arm from around her waist and stepping in front of her so that she's backed up against the wall. One hand lands softly beside her head while the other re-establishes a grip on her hip, and it could feel like he's boxing her in, except that she feels safe — no trace of concern or claustrophobia because it's _Coulson_. He isn't a large man — particularly not when she's wearing these boots — but his presence feels enormous as his chest brushes against her breasts. Her nipples tighten, almost painfully so, and the next light brush of his chest against hers makes her body throb with want.

“Coulson,” she breathes his name, and his eyes dip down and lock onto her lips.

His nose tilts slightly to the left, as though he's angling in to kiss her, and Skye's lips part in anticipation.

“Skye.”

She can _feel_ him say her name as much as she hears it. He exhales as she sucks in a breath, like they're sharing the air between them, and just the thought of it makes her whimper. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the sound pulls her out of the moment.

“What are you doing?” Skye has no space to step backwards, so it's Coulson who pulls back. He only moves his head, though, not his body, and he furrows his eyebrows at her like she's just asked a very stupid question.

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Phil,” comes a voice from behind them, and Coulson sort of scowls for half a second before he pulls himself together — it's like she can see him collecting himself before he turns around at the second call of, “Phil.”

The hostess is standing behind them, looking somewhere between worried and annoyed, and Coulson immediately shoots her an easy, charming grin.

Skye has a much harder time responding.

Her hands shake slightly as she picks up her drink, and she feels a little like she might melt into a puddle if she pulls away from the wall. As though he knows her condition, Coulson turns away from the hostess and back towards her and — again — lays his hand against her back as they follow the hostess to their table.

“I'm sorry if that was too forward,” Coulson says when they're alone again.

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “Just unexpected.”

He nods once and looks down to the table, as though this isn't the answer he was looking for.

“Coulson,” she calls his attention up. “Is this a date?”

His eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth twitches like he can't decide whether to smile or frown.

“What gave it away?”

“You...you asked me if I wanted to get out of the Playground.”

“I asked you out for dinner and drinks,” he corrects her.

“Because you're worried about me. Because you want to make sure I'm okay.”

“Because I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Away from the Playground.”

“Yes.”

“And away from other people.”

“Yes.”

“So...so you could kiss me?”

“That thought had occurred to me.”

“Oh.”

It's like her whole world tilts slightly — not a lot, granted, since Coulson has always cared about her, has always wanted to spend time with her, has always flirted with her...and she's not sure why she's always been so certain that it wasn't _like that_ for him.

“Since when have you...”

“Maybe always,” he answers. And this place is just a little too loud for this kind of conversation, but before Skye has a chance to solve the problem, Coulson solves it himself by sliding around to her half of the booth. “I thought maybe...you feel the same way.”

“I do,” she answers, maybe too quickly. “Or, assuming you feel like...”

“Like what?” His voice is almost overeager, has lost a lot of the smoothness he's put on tonight, and it makes her smile.

And Skye has had her fair share of awkward moments around Coulson, enough that she sometimes forgets how awkward Coulson has been around her. How he sometimes stares at her when he thinks she isn't looking and how he sometimes flirts too hard and how he sometimes makes himself blush and how he's been touching her more lately and how all those things aren't about him just looking out for her.

All those things _mean_ something.

For the first time, it occurs to her just how deep he's in this, just how badly and how _obviously_ he's fallen for her. It's sort of startling that she's never noticed it before, though if she had she'd almost certainly have kissed him before he was ready.

“Huh.”

So she kisses him.

Or, well, she _tries_ to kiss him. She leans in close, close enough to feel his breath on her chin, and is about to brush her lips against his when their server interrupts with two mason jars of water.

Coulson groans quietly against her mouth and shuts his eyes tightly as he draws in a deep, slow breath. The sound makes her shiver, and she unconsciously licks her lips, as though trying to catch an imaginary taste of him. His eyes dart down to watch her tongue and linger there — enthralled — for a moment before he finally manages to look away. 

Finally, he manages to turn to their server, who introduces himself as Ryan, and smiles as they're given a short list of specials.

Skye pays more attention to Coulson than to Ryan or the promise of food — the curl of Coulson's lips as he talks and the sharpness of his jaw in profile and his right arm as it disappears underneath the table and rests in his lap.

“...crispy Brussels sprouts,” she hears Coulson order, and it's sort of annoying that while she's drowning in lust-filled hormones, he's carrying on a conversation with their server. About Brussels sprouts and courses and...stuff.

When Ryan walks away, Skye leans forward to take a long sip from her drink, watching Coulson as he runs his right hand across his inner thigh — clearly adjusting  _things_.

The sight of his hand there sends a stab of arousal between her legs, but she tries to shake it off because they've just been seriously reminded that this is a public space.

“I'm pretty sure I hate Brussels sprouts,” she tells him conversationally, and Coulson frowns, but doesn't look too worried.

“You've never had them like this, though, have you?” Like he's genuinely excited about the vegetable in question.

“No?”

“You have to try them. If you hate them, you can get something else.”

“But you think I'll like them.”

“I think we're living in a golden age of Brussels sprouts,” he tells her seriously, as though the state of any vegetable is a truly important topic of consideration. And it strikes her as so _strange_ but kind of wonderful to be having a conversation about cruciferous vegetables instead of Nazi bunkers and plans for world domination.

She laughs and leans back against the wall behind her, turning so she can face him. Her leg curls underneath her, and she watches Coulson's eyes dip down to look at her bare thigh before refocusing on her face.

“I've never actually gotten to see you in full-on foodie mode. You're pretty cute when you're excited about stuff.”

“Cute enough that you want to try kissing me again?”

“Hmm.” She considers his question as she also considers him. “Maybe I want to wait until we're alone.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, so no one's around to interrupt?”

“Interruptions are bad,” he agrees, though his hand lands on her knee, and they both watch his fingers skim upwards and run softly just up to the hem of her dress. The feel of his fingertips on her thigh makes her shiver, and goosebumps erupt all along her freshly-shaved leg. His fingers are _inches_ from where she'd really like him, and arousal pulses between her legs at the thought of him pushing further, at the thought of his fingers inside of her.

Which is of course when someone stops at the table with small plates and silverware.

“See, aren't you glad I wasn't kissing you just then?”

“No, not really,” he answers as he runs his hand back down her leg, his whole palm curving slowly over her knee.

“It would have been _really_ frustrating.”

“I'm not sure I could be more frustrated.”

Coulson frowns when Skye slides her leg back down to the floor, but she takes his hand in hers and holds it for a moment. Whatever is happening right now is too intense, and she knows it.

“Why today?”

Coulson swallows and looks down into his lap.

“Is it too soon?”

“Soon?”

“After...what happened in Puerto Rico. I figured I should wait.”

“Why...”

“Skye, why do you think I followed you down into those tunnels?”

“You wanted to see the city.”

“Secondary,” he dismisses.

“You thought you could help —”

“I _knew_ I couldn't. I knew it was stupid.”

“Oh.”

The gravity of what he isn't saying is all in his eyes, and she sort of falls towards him, towards the weight of everything she thinks he means right now. The look in Coulson's eyes makes her shiver, like literally shiver, and she can't even tell whether the anticipation is more emotional or physical.

“Coulson,” she breathes his name as she leans in.

“Skye,” he sighs back.

“I think I'd like to kiss you _right now_.”

Coulson's hand cups her cheek in response, and Skye leans in the last fraction of an inch necessary to touch her lips to his.

Which is, of course, when Ryan arrives with their sprouts. He has the good grace to notice what he's interrupting, and he drops them quickly before backing away.

“I guess you were right,” Coulson suggests as he looks down at the basket of halved Brussels sprouts, which have been tossed with garlic, lemon, and parmesan.

“I thought you couldn't get more frustrated?” Skye drops her hand onto his thigh and brushes upwards, sort of shocked at her own forwardness, but also sort of seriously enjoying making Coulson off balance.

“Fuck,” he growls — actually _growls_ — low under his breath. “I should have just kissed you in my office.”

“Does that mean you're not opposed to sex on your desk?”

“ _Skye_.” His hips shift as he clenches his jaw so tightly it looks painful, and she she feels a little bad for teasing him.

“Hey,” she calls his attention as she pulls her hand back. “Coulson, I really appreciate this, okay?”

“This?”

“You taking me on a date. Buying me nice drinks. Making me eat vegetables.”

He laughs, and she can see some of the tension leave his body.

“You'll like them,” he promises again, and somehow they manage to turn to the food.

She does like them, it turns out. Like, a lot.

“Oh my god,” Skye moans after her first bite, aware that Coulson is watching her closely as she chews.

He snags one on his fork and eats it, once she's done, and his eyes slip closed in enjoyment.

“Very good,” he agrees.

They trade off bites of several more shared dishes over a few hours — beet salad with figs, seared scallops over minted pea puree, little croquettes filled with goat cheese, bruschetta with fire-roasted eggplant — enjoying each other's company in addition to the food, until Skye is satiated and relaxed. She hasn't had many occasions in her life to eat like this — not just quality food, but tapas-style meals eaten slowly over a few hours, each dish appreciated on its own. It's a good experience.

“That's one of the best meals I ever had,” she mumbles into Coulson's shoulder. He responds by leaning in and kissing the top of her head.

“Better thanks to the company. But we haven't had dessert yet.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” she sighs, but their server drops off an elaborately plated _something_ that appears more like art than food.

“I read about this. Shiitake ice cream with chocolate.”

“Chocolate, yes. Shiitake, no,” Skye posits, and Coulson smiles down at her.

“Well I have to try it.”

She wrinkles her nose and then slides even closer to him, so that she can press her lips close to his ear.

“And how am I going to entertain myself while you're eating dessert?” Her words are accompanied by her hand landing on his thigh, rubbing over the firm muscle there as she quests higher.

He swallows visibly, eyes wide, until Skye backs her hand off a little bit.

“I was hoping to convince you to at least taste it,” Coulson tells her, and she watches the look of pleasure on his face as he takes his first bite.

“Should I be glad that you have an adventurous palate?” Skye asks the question as he groans in pleasure, sucking at the spoon so that it leaves his lips completely clean. His eyes dance as he looks over at her, and she watches his lips sort of twitch, as though he's fighting a wide smile.

“It bodes well for you,” he assures her, before licking a spot of chocolate off of his thumb, and Skye feels her cheeks heat up against the promise in his gaze.

“Then I have to try it, don't I?” She sighs. “I don't want you to think I'm not as adventurous as you are.”

“Hey,” he calls her attention. “You have nothing to prove to me. Besides, there's vanilla and there's chocolate and then there's...”

“Shiitake.” Skye clears her throat. “I think this metaphor is getting away from me.”

The dessert is actually amazing. Like, one of the best things she's ever put in her mouth, and she moans at the first perfectly-composed bite that Coulson feeds her before digging in with her own spoon. They trade bites, enjoying the unique combination of sweet and savory flavors, and it's an amazingly sensual experience.

“Oh my _God,_ ” she sighs as she scrapes up the last bite. “Who even thinks to try combinations like this?”

His smirk at that is all kinds of naughty, and it seems like such an obvious thing when she cups his cheek in her hand and leans forward to kiss him.

It's a soft brush of lips, given as though it's something they've done before — an old hat part of their relationship instead of something new. She feels a warm rush of pleasure at the feel of his lips on hers, and then a shiver of desire down her back. They pause long enough to share a breath between them, before Skye dives forward and he meets her in an eager, open-mouthed kiss.

Coulson is the one that breaks it, though he only manages to pull his lips a few inches away from hers.

“I want to wait on this until we won't have to stop.”

“When will that be?” Skye asks, unconsciously leaning closer to him, until Coulson kisses her again. His tongue swipes over her lower lip as he pulls back.

“Soon.”

“In the car?”

“No room.”

“On top of the car?”

Coulson laughs at that, but Skye is totally serious. In fact, the idea of having Coulson on top of Lola is all kinds of hot.

“You're still excited about Lola, hmm?”

“Aren't you?” She leans into his ear again because she's already figured this out — Coulson really likes it when she whispers in his ear. “Park her somewhere nice and deserted, under the stars.”

“Skye,” he breathes her name.

“Come on, you've thought about it, haven't you? On top of Lola?”

“Yes,” he hisses his answer, and her hand drops to his thigh again. This time she doesn't shy away as she walks her fingers upwards, until her hand is pressing against his cock.

“What are you going to do to me on top of Lola, Coulson?”

“Make you come,” he whispers, turning his head so that now he's the one talking in her ear. “With my tongue,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” she groans as she feels a stab of arousal between her legs.

“I bet you taste better than that ice cream.”

Their dirty talk is cut off when their server drops off their check, and Coulson just has to sign and pocket his card before they're ready to go, hand in hand on their way out to the parking lot. He kisses her once more — hard and deep — before he opens her door and ushers her back into Lola.

There's really _not_ room to fool around in Lola's bucket seats, though Skye is able to sort of drape herself over the center console enough to snake her hand into his lap as he pulls out of the parking lot. It's too loud to hear it because of the sounds of the car accelerating onto the highway, but she can _feel_ him groan as her fingers trace the shape of his erection and then scratch lightly across the denim.

He surprises her by turning off of the main highway an onto a dark country road, where he slows down significantly before placing his hand on top of hers.

Skye expects to have her hand lifted away, but instead he guides her fingers up to the top of his zipper and Skye takes the initiative to tug it down. It takes a little wrangling to pull his cock out through the opening, but she manages it, and Coulson drops their speed to a crawl as she starts to pump her hand over him.

“Fuck, Skye,” he breathes, and every time his hips involuntarily pump upwards to meet her hand, he presses a little bit harder on the accelerator.

And she loves this feeling — _loves_ it — of having Coulson melting under her touch, helpless and wanting more and breathing her name as much as air. Slowly, she maneuvers herself to lean over the console between them in an attempt to get her head in his lap. It's not easy, and she knows her ass is sticking up in the air, but she manages to wrap her lips around him, chasing her hand down his shaft as she works over him.

“ _Fuck_ , _Skye_.”

He groans and moans and curses prolifically, especially when she wraps her tongue around the head of his cock to work over the sensitive underside. Basically, Coulson is _loud_ , like the kind of loud that would be embarrassing if it weren't so hot, but every groan and moan and curse just makes her more wet and aching.

It takes her a while to realize that they've stopped, and that Coulson's hands gripping the steering wheel are placed there because he's seeking control — seeking not to push her down — rather than because he's driving. That, too, strikes her as insanely hot: making Phil Coulson struggle to control himself.

“Stop stop stop,” he finally pants and tugs gently on her hair to pull her back. She resists his urging and only sucks harder, but Coulson's hands in her hair move from gentle to firm as he tugs her head up from his lap.

“I want to make you come,” she half-pouts, letting her hand stroke up to circle the head of his cock once more. Coulson's head thunks back against his seat and he groans as he tugs her into a kiss — hard and desperate.

“Not yet,” he pleads against her mouth. “Not yet, _please_ , Skye.”

It's insanely hot, and even as she pulls her hand off of his cock, she feels a tug of arousal in her nipples, a twinge between her legs, and she thinks she might be able to come just from pressing her thighs together.

When she pulls back, Coulson collapses back against his seat, panting sort of pathetically until he rolls his head to look at her.

“Jesus Christ, Skye.”

She doesn't mean to, exactly, but as she watches him pant and stare at her, her hand creeps up under her dress to press against the wet fabric between her legs. Her eyes slip closed at the welcome pressure — though it's not _nearly_ enough.

She's startled back to awareness by Coulson's door slamming, followed quickly by her own door opening and Coulson tugging her out of the car. He kisses her once he's got her on her feet, hands cupping her cheeks as his tongue explores her mouth.

“On top of Lola,” he murmurs into her mouth.

“Yes,” Skye agrees, and lets herself be walked backwards and around until he's pressing her to lie back on Lola's hood.

He drags her butt towards the front of the car and raises her legs into the air, rubbing his hands from her knees up her thighs almost reverently as he does so. She can see that his cock is still out — sort of bobbing out of his dark jeans — but he ignores it as he focuses on her.

Coulson's lips land just above the top of her right boot — his tongue straying momentarily underneath — before he begins to kiss a slow, wet trail up her leg.

His tongue curves under her knee and then he licks his way up her inner thigh, his hands still stroking the outside of her legs even as he changes sides, kissing up her left thigh until she can feel his nose brush her panties.

“More,” she whines, and she'd probably feel pathetic for doing it (it's the kind of thing she would normally _not_ do), except that Coulson was already so loud and so _pleading_ that it doesn't seem so embarrassing.

He's wastes little time before he's tugging her panties down and off her legs. It takes a second to fit them over her boots, but then he pockets them and presses his right hand between her legs.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Coulson groans as he slips his thumb against her clit and leans up between her legs to kiss her. “You're so wet,” he whispers against her lips.

“Uh huh,” she agrees as she bucks against his hand.

“So turned on from sucking my cock,” he suggests, dragging his lips down her neck, skimming down the deep V of her dress before dropping to his knees and burying his face between her legs.

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” Skye answers — part at his comment, part at the feel of his mouth against her.

He pushes his tongue inside of her before swirling it up to press into her clit, which is when Skye can't stop herself from pressing a hand into the back of his head.

“Like that.” It's not loud — because she is generally not loud, because her throat is as tense as the rest of her body — but he obeys it anyways.

He's louder than she is, actually, moaning as he works his tongue against her in hard, fast circles, and she's so wound up that she can actually feel the vibrations from his sounds of pleasure. Coulson only moans louder when she tightens her thighs around his head, dropping her boot-clad legs onto his back.

She comes so quickly after that, grinding up against his face and panting wildly, though far from satiated after being so turned on all night. Luckily Couslon seems to get it — like, _really_ get it — because he makes no move to pull back when her thighs fall open. Instead, he keeps his tongue pressed against her while he also pushes first one and then two fingers inside of her.

The stretch is amazing — he has _thick,_ nimble fingers, something she's definitely noticed before — and Skye moans loudly as he twists them inside of her to push up against her g-spot.

Her hand lands on his head again, not so much holding him in place as _encouraging_ him to do so, and when her boots land on his back, he moans against her.

She loses herself in his fingers and tongue, though she runs her hands up her still-clothed torso in order to cup her breasts through her dress as she starts to get close again.

“Coulson,” she grunts his name as she feels herself getting close, and he answers with a moan and suction against her clit that drives her wild.

This time she comes harder and just _more_ , letting herself go underneath Coulson as her right leg curls around his neck. It takes her longer to come down, to feel in control of her body again, and when she manages to release Coulson, he stands up and drags his right hand across his glistening lips and chin.

“I was right,” he tells her as he leans over her on the hood of the car to kiss her. “You taste better than that ice cream.”

He kisses her deeply, as though he wants to prove it to her, and Skye responds eagerly. She reaches between their bodies as he kisses her to wrap her hand around his cock, still bare and bobbing out from the fly of his jeans.

Coulson sucks in a breath against her mouth as she touches him, and then drops his head forward as she pumps her hand over him.

“I want you inside me,” she tells him, which earns her another deep kiss before he pulls back and tugs her legs up onto his shoulders.

“Like this?”

“Yes,” she answers, raising her hips up to brush herself against his cock, though Coulson just grins and her and drops her legs. As she watches, he unbuttons his jeans and carefully slides them down his thighs along with the tight black boxer-briefs he's wearing.

He pauses long enough to pull a condom out of his wallet — and Skye has to wonder how much he was really planning to have happen on this date — and roll it over himself, then he guides her back into position. That means her boot-clad calves close around his neck, holding on as he presses his cock against her.

“These boots are so hot,” he murmurs, tilting his head to brush his cheek against the leather. And then he pushes forward, hard and fast, so that she really does have to grip him tight between her legs.

He grinds more than thrusts in this position, but she thinks she could come just from the feel of his cock inside of her. She can't even think about how long it's been since she's had this feeling of being filled up. He's big — kind of surprisingly big, she thinks — and even with limited movement, it's enough to get her off, to send her spasming against him, almost more a continuation of her last orgasm than a new one.

“On the ground,” he half-begs her, and she nods because it's pretty obvious that actually having sex on Lola isn't going to be an easy thing. And it's even more obvious that Coulson is growing increasingly desperate.

He pulls back and half-sits, half-collapses in the grass (his jeans are still very much around his thighs), so Skye slides down after him. As she straddles him, she thinks it's a good thing that Coulson pulled off the road into a grassy patch because she'd probably not be able to stop if they had found themselves on asphalt right now.

Slowly, she sinks herself down over him, and Coulson gathers up her dress to watch. Once he's buried inside her again, his hands slip under her dress to grip her hips and Skye starts moving.

“God, yes,” Coulson moans as she moves, and he runs one hand up her body to cup her breasts over her dress. “Fuck, Skye. I can't wait to get you naked.”

She sort of laughs, a little stutter in the fast rhythm she's set.

“I had pinned you as more of a leg man.”

He nods, definitely not denying it, and both hands run back up under her dress to grope along her thighs as she moves.

They don't last long — Skye because she's already been so worn down and Coulson because he's been so built up, but it feels explosive. Her muscles squeeze hard around his cock as she moves, and Coulson is incoherent under her, once again being almost embarrassingly loud.

She wonders how they're ever going to have sex at the base, only to be bombarded with images of holding him down, forcing him to be quiet. And those thoughts definitely do her in, but it's Coulson's hips snapping up — hard — against her that make her come so hard she collapses on top of him. He's not even done, still spasming inside of her, when she's entirely spent.

Coulson rolls her to the side for just long enough to pull off the condom, but it's not until he's tied a knot in the top that he realizes he has nowhere to put it. Skye laughs and pulls a kleenex out of the pocket of her dress (the real reason she bought it) and takes it from him while he tugs up his jeans so they're technically decent.

Still, once they're both covered (though her panties are definitely still in his pocket), Coulson lies back and encourages her to join him and look up at the stars. Her head on his shoulder in a deserted field somewhere...it's so romantic she has a hard time reconciling it with her life.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, more relaxed than she can remember being since...maybe ever.

“Mmmhmm,” he agrees, stroking a hand down her back.

“So, um, where are we?”

Coulson laughs and turns enough that he can kiss her forehead.

“I think we might need to revisit your level one agent test and all that stuff about awareness of your surroundings.”

“I trusted you,” she defends herself, which only makes Coulson laugh harder.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you not to trust a man's judgement when you have his dick in your mouth?”

“Obviously your judgement wasn't too bad. I mean, you stopped. And then you made me come, like, five times.”

Skye props herself up over him in order to really look at him, and can't help being incredibly charmed by his relaxed, boyish smile. She kisses him then, lips parting so she can map his mouth with her tongue, more careful and slow now that the pressing urgency has passed. For the moment.

“How does this change things?” She finally gathers the courage to ask the question, but it doesn't change Coulson's easy smile in the least.

“It doesn't really,” he answers with a shrug. “You'll still work in my office, but when I think about walking over to kiss you, I'll act on it.”

“And when I think about crawling under your desk to distract you while you're doing paperwork?”

“You should definitely act on that,” he agrees.

“I'll remember that.”

“And when I want to bend you over my desk —”

“Coulson,” she sighs and buries her head in his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“This was the best date I've ever been on.”

“Me, too,” he agrees easily.

 

 


End file.
